The Christmas Bus

by Melody Carlson

  the

  CHRISTMAS

  BUS

  the

  CHRISTMAS

  BUS

  Melody Carlson

  Grand Rapids, Michigan

  ©2006 by Melody Carlson

  Published by Fleming H. Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Carlson, Melody.

  The Christmas bus / Melody Carlson.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 10: 0-8007-1879-8 (cloth)

  ISBN 978-0-8007-1879-4 (cloth)

  1. Hotelkeepers—Fiction. 2. Bed and breakfast accommodations—Fiction.

  3. Young families—Fiction. 4. Labor (Obstetrics)—Fiction. 5. Christmas

  Valley (Or.)—Fiction. 6. Christmas stories. I. Title.

  PS3553.A73257C47 2006

  813′.54—dc22 2006006682

  Scripture is taken from The Message by Eugene H. Peterson, copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. All rights reserved.

  Stay on good terms with each other, held together by love. Be ready with a meal or a bed when it’s needed. Why, some have extended hospitality to angels without ever knowing it!

  Hebrews 13:1–2

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  Prologue

  December 20

  “Where in the world are we?” asked Amy as she pulled the wool blanket she was using as a shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. She looked out the dirt-streaked passenger window, gazing at the bleak, brown rolling hills all around them.

  “Like I told you . . .” Collin pulled into the slow-moving vehicle lane to allow a short string of cars to pass him. “We’re in northern Oregon now. We’ll be heading into the Cascade Mountains in a few minutes. I just hope we can make it over without too much trouble. Ol’ Queenie almost bought the farm going over the Rockies.”

  At the beginning of their cross-country trip, they had christened their revamped school bus the “Queen Mary” but had since shortened it to “Queenie.” The name worked since the makeshift motor home was as big as a ship and probably used about as much fuel too. Collin hadn’t told Amy that they were almost out of money, due to the recently inflated gas prices, or that he was worried about Queenie’s transmission going out before they reached their final destination in San Diego.

  “I just hope I can make it over without another rest stop.” Amy rubbed her hand over her large taut belly, silently promising her unborn baby that everything was going to be okay, that they would be settled in sunny Southern California in time for Christmas, which was only five days away.

  “So why did we come this way?” she asked as they started the ascent into the foothills. More vegetation was growing here. Mostly evergreens, but the change of scenery was welcome after so many miles of barren, dry land.

  Collin shrugged. “I don’t know. It just looked like a straight shot on the map to me.”

  “It seems pretty desolate up here.”

  “There’ll be more towns once we get over this pass,” Collin assured her. Then he pointed to a sign. “See, it says, ‘Christmas Valley, eleven miles.’ ”

  “Oh, I got a free pamphlet about that town at the last gas station,” she said suddenly, reaching for her oversized bag. She foraged until she found the dog-eared brochure. “Here it is.” And then she began to read. “‘Tucked into a protected niche of the eastern Cascades lies the sleepy little town of Christmas Valley. This quaint little hamlet received its name two centuries ago when a pair of stranded fur trappers sought refuge during the Christmas blizzard of 1847.’ ” She stopped reading and looked out the window again, shuddering as she peered up at the heavy-looking gray clouds overhead. “Do you think it’s going to snow, Collin?”

  “Hope not.” He kept his focus on the road, and she turned her attention back to the brochure.

  “‘Since that frosty winter,’ ” she read, “‘the town has gone from a spot on the map to an unimpressive trading post, to a rather insignificant mining settlement, to a thriving logging community with a working railroad. Then the recession of the eighties arrived, and the logging industry diminished due to environmental concerns that listed the spotted owl as endangered and, not long after that, the boreal toad as well.’ ”

  Collin laughed. “What is a boreal toad?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, but it sounds like it was trouble for Christmas Valley.”

  “So then what happened?”

  “It says that the railroad was rerouted and that Christmas Valley was forced to reinvent itself or disappear.” She skimmed the words, worried that she might be getting carsick again. “It basically sounds like the town decided to capitalize on its name—Christmas Valley—and it turned into a tourist town where everything is all about Christmas.”

  “Interesting . . .”

  Amy looked out at the pine trees. It was getting dusky now. “I guess it does look kind of Christmassy up here. But it would be better with snow.” And even as she said this, almost like magic, fluffy snowflakes started to fall, spinning from the sky, hitting the windshield in big white splotches. “Look, Collin!” she cried out with childlike happiness. “It is snowing! It’s really snowing.”

  But Collin just groaned as he turned on the wipers. Snow was the last thing he needed right now.

  “It’s going to be a white Christmas for someone!” she exclaimed.

  Collin just muttered, “Uh-huh,” and tried to shift into a lower gear. He didn’t know a lot about engines or mechanical things, but he knew that the grinding sounds coming out of Queenie seemed to be getting worse and worse. He also knew that they were probably not going to make it over the mountain pass tonight.

  “Maybe we should check out this town,” he said as another sign appeared, this one announcing that the exit to Christmas Valley was only a mile away.

  “Could we?” she exclaimed.

  “Why not.”

  And so it was that a rather large and brightly painted bus rolled into the quiet little hamlet of Christmas Valley.

  “‘Population of 2,142,’ ” announced Amy as she read the welcome sign on the edge of town. It was after five o’clock now, and it appeared that most of the businesses, which weren’t many, primarily a grocery store, hardware store, and barbershop, as well as about a dozen or so small retail shops that seemed to be specifically related to Christmas, were already closed.

  “Oh, look,” said Amy, “there’s the North Pole Coffee Shop.” She laughed and pointed across the street. “And there’s Mrs. Santa’s Diner. This is so cute!”

  Collin parked on the main street, right in front of the diner, and they both got out and looked up and down the mostly deserted street. The snow was falling harder now, but Amy seemed happier than she’d been for the entire trip as she pointed out all the various Christmas decorations and shops. It was as if she were her old happy self again, and Collin decided to make the best of it.

&n
bsp; “Let’s get something to eat,” he told her. They went into Mrs. Santa’s Diner, sat down, and ordered Blitzen burgers (all the main food items were named after Santa’s eight reindeer).

  “You folks just passing through?” asked a woman wearing a Santa cap and a red-and-white-striped apron with “Mrs. Santa” embroidered across the front, although Collin had heard someone else calling her “Gloria.”

  “Yeah,” said Collin as he dug out enough cash to pay the bill, along with a very meager tip. “But I think we’ll probably spend the night in town.”

  “That your bus out there?” asked a voice from behind him. Collin turned to see a uniformed policeman. He seemed to be studying the couple with an expression that appeared not too welcoming, not to mention un-Christmassy.

  “Yes,” Collin nodded politely. He didn’t want trouble.

  “Well, you’ll have to move it.”

  “But I didn’t see any ‘No Parking’ signs.”

  “That may be so, but you can’t leave it out there on the street. We have ordinances against camping in town. And didn’t I hear you say you were planning to spend the night?”

  Collin glanced over at Amy, who looked hopeful. “Yes, my wife is pregnant, and this long trip has been hard on her. I thought we might spend a night here.” Of course, he didn’t want to mention his possible mechanical problems being a concern as well. He didn’t want to upset Amy.

  “Well, there’s a nice bed and breakfast,” said Gloria as she wiped down the countertop. “It’s called the Shepherd’s Inn and is within walking distance from town. It’s small, but nice. They only have about five or six rooms, but last I heard they weren’t all rented out yet.”

  “Thank you,” said Collin. He listened as she gave specific directions.

  “That sounds easy enough,” said Amy, smiling up at the policeman. He nodded, as if this plan met with his approval, and then wished them a somewhat restrained “Merry Christmas.”

  The snow was coming down even harder as Collin and Amy went back out onto the street. “It’s going to be cold tonight,” said Amy as they hurried to the bus.

  “We’ll be okay,” said Collin with false confidence, but he quickly shut the door to keep the chill out. He forced a smile as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Well, let’s go find this little inn.”

  But instead of going directly to the inn, Collin took them on a full tour of the little town. Of course, there wasn’t much to see, but he stretched it out as long as he could, going by the post office and the grade school and through the surrounding neighborhoods until he was going down Main Street again.

  “It seems like you’re stalling,” Amy finally said in tired exasperation. “Why don’t we just go to the inn now?”

  “Yeah . . .” he said slowly. “The thing is, Amy, we don’t really have enough money to stay there, at the inn I mean. It would probably take the rest of our gas money for just one night.”

  Amy laughed. “I didn’t think we were actually going to stay in the bed and breakfast, Collin. As nice as that sounds, I figured we were just going to park there to keep the policeman happy.”

  Collin chuckled as he turned the big bus up the street that led to the Shepherd’s Inn. “Hey, then you figured right.”

  1

  December 14

  It’d been nearly twenty-five years since Christmas Valley’s discouraged business owners had first gathered to determine the fate of their faltering economy. That’s when they decided it was high time to capitalize on the town’s seasonal name.

  “Christmas Valley to become the Christmas capital of the Pacific Northwest,” the headlines in their little weekly paper had read back in 1980, and that’s when the CVA (Christmas Valley Association) had been established. It started out simply enough, things like raising funds to purchase Christmas lights and basic decorations as well as scheduling some civic activities during the month of December, but over the years it had evolved into something of a Christmastime three-ring circus, which now launched itself shortly after Halloween.

  “Gotta make the most of the season,” Mayor Drummel (aka Santa Claus) would tell the CVA at their annual planning session in late March. And make the most of it they did. But by early December, some of the townsfolk, weary of this never-ending holiday, could be overheard murmuring things like, “I’m sick of Christmas,” or “One more chorus of Jingle Bells and I’ll . . .” And some less festive folks had adopted the snowbird way of life, flocking down to Phoenix or Palm Springs at the first sight of a candy cane.

  But that was never the case with Edith Ryan, the optimistic owner and operator of the Shepherd’s Inn. Edith always looked forward to this time of year with unbridled enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t mind if Christmas lasted forever,” she’d been known to tell friends and neighbors as she happily prepared for the holiday, cooking and decorating for her family (which now consisted of four grown children and their various spouses plus five grandchildren between the ages of one and nine). She always looked forward to these gatherings in their spacious and gracious family home—the same home that also doubled as the town’s only bed and breakfast for the remainder of the year.

  Edith’s husband, Charles Ryan, was the pastor of the only remaining church in town, and some people figured that Edith had no choice but to maintain her positive outlook on life for his sake. And considering that church membership was down more than usual, even for this time of year, it probably made sense that Edith would look for the brighter side, if only to bolster her husband’s spirits. This was fortunate, since some members of his congregation seemed determined to do just the opposite.

  “Have you noticed that Pastor Charlie seems to be slowing down?” Olive Peters said, totally out of the blue, during quilting circle that week. Of course, the only reason she dared to make this comment was because the pastor’s good wife had been unable to attend that day. “It just occurred to me that he’s getting up there in years.”

  “Goodness knows, he’s been here forever,” said her best friend, retired army nurse Helen Johnson. Accustomed to these two rather dominating women, the other quilters simply sewed and listened without commenting.

  “I think we should encourage the poor old guy to retire,” added Olive, who was pushing sixty herself.

  “For his own sake, of course,” Helen said.

  “And then maybe we could hire someone more hip,” said Olive as she tried to see well enough to thread her needle. Not that either of these women were very hip, although Helen had recently had a hip replacement. “A younger man might breathe some new life into the pulpit.” She squinted her eyes and attempted, for the third time, to thread the pesky needle. “Help the church to grow.”

  “Yes,” agreed Helen. “We need someone who could get the young people more involved.”

  “And the community too,” added Olive. “There are plenty of folks who don’t go to church around here. We should be getting them to come to our church. Membership is way down this year.”

  “Maybe if we found someone with a more contemporary worldview,” inserted Helen. “We all know that Pastor Charlie is a good man, but he can be a bit old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

  Naturally, Edith’s good friend Polly Emery, also present at the quilting circle, kept her thoughts to herself, since she knew that speaking out would only have resulted in an argument. Then the quilt would never get finished in time for Christmas, and it was meant to be a gift for a needy family in town. But she did inform Edith about the dissenters when the two of them met at the North Pole for coffee the following day.

  “I really do hate repeating things like this,” she said apologetically after spilling her proverbial beans. “But I just thought you should be aware of the talk, Edith. For Charles’s sake, you know, so you two can watch your backsides, if you know what I mean.”

  Edith considered Polly’s words as strains of “Silver Bells” played over the tinny sound system in the small café. “Well, Charles does turn sixty-five this year,” she admitted with a bit o
f amazement. Sometimes Edith forgot that her husband was nearly ten years her senior. “But I don’t see that as so terribly old, not really. And he does seem to get along with the young people . . . don’t you think?”

  “Of course he does, Edith. And you’re right, Charles seems much younger than his age. Besides, it’s not his fault that the young people can’t stick around to go to church here. Everyone knows that most of them are forced to leave town to find real work. It’s not as if we have great career opportunities here in Christmas Valley.”

  Edith sighed. “Speaking of young people . . . I just found out that not a single one of our kids will be coming home for Christmas this year.”

  Polly looked shocked. “Really? How can that be? I mean, I realize that Tommy and Alicia and their kids wouldn’t be able to make it since they just got stationed in Germany. And you did mention that Katie and her family might not be able to make the trip from Florida this year. But what about Jack and his new wife—what’s her name?”

  “Constance.”

  “Right. What about them? I thought they were coming.”

  “Constance just decided that they should spend Christmas with her parents this year. And, really, that seems only fair. After all, Jack brought her here last Christmas when they got engaged. Remember?”

  “What about Krista then? I happen to know that teachers get nearly two weeks off this year, and she only lives in Seattle—she could easily drive here in just a few hours. What’s her excuse?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. She just called this morning, and it seems that she and some teacher friends got the chance to share a condo in Hawaii during the holidays—an opportunity of a lifetime for her. . . . Of course, she had to go.”

  “Oh . . .” Polly appeared stumped now.

  “So it’s just Charles and me this year.”

  “I’d invite you to join us, but we promised Candy and Bill that we’d come to their house this year. We plan to be gone for a whole week.”